Caprice
by Symmet
Summary: Sam's half of the Old as Your Omens Series. AU in which Sam and Dean split up but make up before getting back together. Sam gets kidnapped by the angels before meeting back up with Dean during that intermission where he works at a bar. They make up without the Zachariah apocalyptic alternate universe spell getting to Dean. In fact, the Angels can't seem to find Dean at all.
1. Chapter 1

**Caprice**

_Sam and Michael's half of 'Old as your Omens' series_

Probably vaguely before season 5 finale haha a of course. AU in which Sam and Dean split up but make up before getting back together.

Sam gets kidnapped by the angels before meeting back up with Dean during that intermission where he works at a bar. They make up without the Zachariah apocalyptic alternate universe spell getting to Dean. In fact, the Angels can't seem to find Dean at all. Which is why they got Lucifer on it. Via dream creep style.

It kicks off with a little bit from Sam POV but it is Michael POV because I'm weird and I decided to do things the weird way.

* * *

Sam was closing up the bar when it happened. It was late, he was tired, he had been feeling pretty optimistic, actually, and of course something had to fuck it up. Now he was pissed as Hell, because one second he was locking up, the next he was surrounded. Unfortunately, from the set of their faces, and their stances, and the lack thereof of jabs, insults, or witty one liners, he knew they weren't demons.

Angels.

_Damn_.

He'd prayed for a good portion of his life. He'd needed them to exist, he needed to believe there was something good out there to make fighting all the horrors of the world alright. But it would never be alright. And of course, once he stopped praying, they weren't playing hard to get anymore. And of course, these days he'd rather they stay the fuck away.

He'd even managed to find a spell to lock out Lucifer's dream creeping. And he'd just made up with Dean. They were even supposed to meet up in a couple days. Well.

Actually, Sam was relieved they weren't together for this.

Better him than both of them.

As one of them suddenly reaches out and presses the palm of their hand to his forehead and everything goes black, he supposes it made sense.

He should have known. It hadn't mattered the first time - why had he thought it would work a second? He couldn't run from his life, he should have known that by now. College had been a respite, no more. this - this, too, had been a rest. An in-between. He didn't get to walk away. He should have known. What he did was irrelevant. He would always end up right back here. In the center.

If feels like all the people he'd worked to save his whole life - it was him paying back a debt he never knew he would accrue. And he'll never be able to pay it back. All those people who are dead. All the people who will die - whether or not they say yes. It's too late. They're all dead because of him. No wonder he can never get away.

Just as Lucifer said.


	2. Chapter 2

Michael peered at his construct. Why humans were only equipped with one pair of hands was beyond him. Currently he also wished he could stretch his wings as well, but this vessel was not even a real human, let alone able to harness his power. He almost wanted to discard it and continue projecting a corporeal form for the Winchester to interact with. But it was better to be ready for when Dean said yes than woefully unprepared. He'd rather get used to it now. No matter how his wanted to unfold his wings.

Besides, the Winchester sitting across him on the other side of the room would likely find his eyes burnt out. Unlikely to gain any favor from him or his brother if that happened.

Samuel Winchester sat, cross-legged, with his arms drawn up on both sides and pinned - semi loosely - to a wall. Nothing else was used to restrain him, for the chains and the shackles were not only very powerful, but invisible.

It was unlikely he would be able to escape.

He still kept watch over the younger brother - out of duty, mostly, but the fact that the Winchesters had managed to evade them for so long was a better point for the surveillance, as well. Michael could not risk his fallen brother - Castiel - surprising them and managing to free what little leverage they seemed to hold over Dean.

Michael was also unwilling to let a lesser angel near, now, especially when the Winchesters had already proved themselves able to breed doubt, and fell one of them.

Although Dean's righteousness had no doubt played a part, and though Castiel had raised him from perdition, Michael was still inclined to believe that Samuel Winchester, vessel to Lucifer, the breeder of doubts, was involved as well.

Besides - without a vessel (a proper vessel), Michael could not truly take part in the War - no General would arrive without his sword. In this space, however, he could take on a more…human form. Not being overly familiar with them, he took the most recent - John Winchester. He, too, was a righteous man, so Michael felt more at ease.

Samuel seemed to particularly hate him for it.

He was only partially aware of Sam's consciousness; although he had not spoken contemptuously outright as Lucifer, and later Uriel, had of humans - rather, he had no real feelings about humans. His duty was to God above all, so he's maintained his duty - he was loathe to delve too near the soul of the being who had mutilated it with demon's blood, and in so doing became an abomination.

Of course, sometimes, the human's consciousness could barely be ignored.

Samuel Winchester did not speak a word for the first "week" they spent in each other's company. Though even Michael is unsure how he would have reacted were it to have happened for that first while. Perhaps he would have simply ignored the man.

Time was fluid in this space, or rather, the opposite, static, and as thus, Samuel did not age a moment there, nor did he eat or sleep to any detriment. In some sense, it was not unlike being put under the physical magics of being an Angel - those untouched and separate to time.

No, he did not speak a word to Michael.

But his thoughts could roar.

In truth, Michael did not know why it surprised him; Lucifer had been that way, too - often seeming gentle of disposition, yet so fierce and dangerous even in silence, beyond wrath - to a place of utter contempt. Of revulsion.

But all angels were fierce and dangerous. Perhaps Sam's own abhorrence was surprising because it matched the magnitude of an Angel's.

But his emotions were a confused, desperate thing.

Despair, horror, fear, terror, hatred, disgust.

It was an ever-churning cycle with Samuel - he did not rest from it, did not cease or break away from it.

Michael does not think about Lucifer in the cage, silently waiting.

It was strangest, of course, that Samuel's mind was not at it's worst when he was feeling hateful, but when he was feeling repulsed.

_AreyouhappynowareyouhappynowAreyouhappynowAreyouhappynowAreyouhappynowAreyouhappynowAreyouhappynow_

It was a thin line that melted under the white hot rage that twisted into disgust, with Samuel, for his was the mind of a maddened, broken creature. If he had been required to eat and sleep, Michael doubts he would have even attempted to.

It was infuriating.

Samuel Winchester did not simply despise Michael.

He was revolted by him.

_HowcouldyouhowcouldyouhowcouldyouHowcouldyouHowcouldyouHowHowHow_

That Michael could make this deal, and break them down.

The agony in Sam at this inevitable outcome, this "betrayal", was akin that of a faithful man.

Well. Sam had been, hadn't he?

A faithful man.

He'd prayed to Michael before, no doubt. For strength, for courage.

For hope.

And now Michael was stripping him of these things.

They couldn't make the Winchesters say yes, but they almost didn't have to.

What they were doing was worse.

This was the destruction of any semblance of freedom.

But what Sam found most abominable (how curious, that he could drink demon's blood and still find something abominable) was the change in parties, as his subconscious thought of it. It was, to Sam, not right verses wrong, Michael verses Lucifer, but Humanity verses the both of them. Lucifer and Michael as one entity (Michael resented that) above any other sort of moral obligations.

But to Sam, Michael had become worse than Lucifer.

Michael had forsaken his brother.

Then he'd planned the apocalypse.

Then he had made a deal with the devil (no deal was actually made, Michael was not inclined enough to point out).

He was supposed to be 'better than that'.

Michael would have pointed out that Dean had not been above selling his soul.

It was a matter of for what, for whom. If the ends justified the means. And the Host had decided Paradise was worth the Apocalypse.

But to Samuel, he had irrevocably failed. Michael didn't particularly care that Samuel thought he failed, but if there hadn't been such blatant pain behind his_ incessant _internal screaming, Michael would have smote him.

If Michael wasn't sure no one else could be responsible to watch him, he would have left.

It was not that Samuel's arguments made any impact. It was the emotion behind them.

It burned in his Grace.

That despair was alike only one.

It was so long ago, and yet Angels were untouched by time.

His grace remembered that agony as if it were now.

**Lucifer.**


	3. Chapter 3

He did not tire of keeping guard over Samuel, but it wore at him, pulled at his Grace.

it had been so long since he'd been around humans.

They were infinitely weaker, smaller, stupider.

Their emotions were like small suns, when they were pushed to their limits.

Michael had no sympathy for Samuel, but he could admit Samuel had been tested.

Sometimes, the boys's mind shrieked - it jarred itself so completely into Michael's Grace that he could feel his control dissipate.

A human response - the gritting of a jaw, the clenching of fists, those were Michael's reactions. Never more. He never spoke, nor acted to halt it.

And yet...

Immediately the mental abuse would abate. A thin line of shock and just a hint of fear would pass over Sam's soul briefly. Not of Michael. Of the face he wore, ever more youthful compared to the last time Samuel had seen his father.

But Samuel's father had been often wrathful, and even after losing his youth, he had not lost that, nor, it seemed, the expression that came with it.

Afraid of his own father.

It made Michael think of Lucifer, but only ever briefly, as he was loathe to linger on such thoughts.

But then the cries would start up again eventually.

Michael wondered if Samuel Winchester was broken.

For so long, his faith had kept him afloat. His prayer to be saved, his hope.

And then Angels _had_ been real.

And it was less correct to say his hopes had been dashed so much as violently rendered from him, torn away forever.

_He was Lucifer's vessel._

Forgiveness would never be an option.

But even then -

His perceived image of Michael, how he had thought him to be. It was wrong.

(It was most interesting to be privy to this - to see Samuel's version of him)

Apparently, Michael was some twisted, imperfect form of the ArchAngel Samuel had imagined. A mockery.

But it was not as if Samuel could even remotely comprehend Michael's full existence, in any event. That was beyond his human capabilities, much less the abilities of someone whose soul had been mangled by demonic inhibitions.

Even so, he almost wanted to tell Sam that he would not change to meet the expectations of a human. That the existence of angels would not, would** never** have pardoned him, would not provide some escape from the severity of his sins. He'd wanted Angels to exist so that he might be redeemed, the chance to avoid Hell, to avoid the consequences of his actions. They were nothing more to him than the opportunity of a second chance. It was simple, selfish need.

But he knew that such things would likely crack Sam's already fractured soul. And Lucifer would not take kindly to that. Lucifer liked to take care of his belongings. Well, the things he valued, at least, for certainly most demons were in his thrall, and he held more contempt than attachment to them.

After a week of this, where Sam's unchecked mind finally coerced a response, where Michael's patience was worn thin so that he had to close his eyes and take a deep breath (it was, if nothing more, distracting. And new) and recount why he couldn't smite Sam because Lucifer would know and really, his brother_ threw fits when Michael broke his things that could dry up seas_. Or shift tectonic plates.

Pangea had drifted apart on it's own, yes, but someone may have prodded that along in the far distant past.

(Unbeknownst to him, this was not unlike when Dean borrowed - and broke - Samuel's computer.)

As it was, Sam relaxed at the human display, and instead of returning to his internal tirade, his mind quieted. If Michael had cared past his obligations of keeper, he would have thought it a good sign. Instead he warily regarded the human, sharpening his awareness of Sam's soul, watching in surprise as it began knitting itself back together weakly. Not enough to make a true difference.

But enough to encourage the hunter to open his mouth and speak for the first time in a week.

His body had been untouched by time, however, so it was as if mere moments had passed since last he spoke. Truly, as if only an hour ago he had told Lindsay he would lock up, _no worries, yeah yeah, get home safe, see you tomorrow_. His voice and throat were not even remotely coarse from disuse.

"You'll probably piss him off. A lot. Instead of…you know, uh, endearing yourself…to him…"

Sam awkwardly didn't finish the sentence.

Michael refused to even try and understand that statement. He continued looking at Sam, but sharpened his gaze.

"What?"

If he had to limit himself to the childlike speech humanity had crafted, then at least he wouldn't attempt to comprehend overly inane usage of it.

Sam raised an eyebrow and though he was not emotionally ready to do it physically, a small smile echoed in his soul.

Michael blinked. _Had he said that out loud?_

Sam blinked at him.

Michael dared probe into his conscious mind.

_Yes, Michael, you did. Say that. Out loud. Kind of. In my head._

Samuel's halting thoughts matched his voice exactly.

Michael froze at the last part. _In my head._

A sinking feeling billowing up from his grace, he delved into the hundreds of layers of dimensions his form was spread across. Unfortunately, he had very few reasons to think that Sam had suddenly gained the powers to pry into ArchAngel thoughts. Or it was some human slang. More likely it was that he'd thought things on the wrong dimension. Primarily one that bonded vessels could hear. True vessels.

_It hadn't even occurred to him._

It was, of course, this space. This ... pocket dimension that he had decided to use while he kept watch of Sam.

It was parted from the world. Other, lesser Angels, like Castiel, could not find it.

There were bonuses - space-time ceased to affect organic matter. So caring physically for Sam had been reduced exponentially. It was untraceable without an ArchAngel intervening. His True Form could be stuffed into a fake one - here, his Grace would not destroy any undeserving flesh it was housed in.

As it was now.

The problem? It accorded more space that a human vessel, so it existed on multiple plains. A plain previously harboring the barest, northernmost tip of one of his six wings now held his thoughtspeak. Specifically, it was a dimension that could be accessed by true vessels, created so that they may connect telepathically with Angels. It was a natural slot, so it was not altogether strange that it ended up there. Nor was the fact that it was so revealing - true vessels and their Angels would have nothing to hide from each other - no secrets. Likely, if more than one true vessel existed at a time and was privy to those thoughts, they too, having been the vessel of a brother or sister, were welcome to any thoughts. It was, as Dean would likely put it, akin to "Angel radio".

Because he planned to inhabit his vessel, he'd never attempted to open it with Dean. They would be one in mind and soulGrace. It was like comparing the use of a matchstick and a campfire. Both provided light, but one could be used for warmth and the cooking of food.

Lucifer would have said that the latter would be more easily obtained through use of the first. He had opened his link to Sam not long ago.

Because he had dreamwalked to Sam while he slept.

Because in order to activate it, you had to connect to the vessel's subconsciousness.

As Michael had when he'd wanted to make sure Sam would not plan an escape.

_Ah_, Thought Michael, in a manner more closely resembling an utterance of _'Damn'._

Sam was already used to it from Lucifer's invading his privacy.

Which was why Sam, no doubt, had not reacted in a suspicious manner when he heard Michael's thoughts.

_He'd heard Michael's thoughts._

The only good thing was that not every exact thought got through - it was, as Michael had already decided, a rough thing, not able to bridge an ArchAngel's consciousness and a human's perfectly. Emotions got through much better than general thoughts. Of course, it could also be blocked, though the task was manual, as he was doing now. Sam could not completely tell the extent of his horror at the recent discovery.

The human in question tilted his head, realization that the invasion of privacy - for both of them - was perhaps not as intended as he'd previously assumed.

Michael pulled his thoughtspeak out of that dimension and forced it to share the same plane as a shielded arm.

Once a connection was made, it was loathe to be lost. Here, his Grace was working against him, almost. But he managed. It was uncomfortable, but a thousand times less... revealing.

Sam made a noise of surprise.

If Michael could demonstrate the proper and human reaction to embarrassment, he would be red.

He would be stuttering and blushing and trying to hide his face or at the very least avoid eye contact.

He was _aghast_, bowled over by shame and surprise and the alarm of experiencing it for the first in an incredibly long time.

He was **_livid_**.

But his face remained impassive. They were _not_ going to speak of this. He would seal the hunter's voice - _seal his mind, even seal his memories._

_Completely remove the memories! Obliterate them!_

He dare not speak of it.

Sam gave a hollow laugh after some moments, and for the first time since his arrival, cast his eyes around the small white room.

Assessing, calculating, learning.

Sam was wily and cunning at heart. Michael knew his brother and had seen that look before. He dared not touch Sam's consciousness even so. He had been burned, and now was unwilling to go near the fire, even though he had nothing to fear from it. Better not to.

Sam's appraisal of the room seemed to satisfy him, for although he did not look pleased, he did not look defeated, either.

He looked accepting, if anything.

But if anyone could act, it would be Lucifer's true vessel.

Sam's eyes made their way back to Michael.

Michael did not approve of that. Was this… being unnerved? Michael was not accustomed to the feeling, although his knowledge and experiences with humans (little and few though they had been in the social sense) helped him identify it.

He felt at first indignant, for he would not be cowed by some wretch addicted to demon's blood.

But he stayed unmoving, unspeaking.

And thus it was that when their eyes did meet, it left a shock, a ripple down his grace as it down down Sam's soul.

The connection did not make them friends. But it created a disconnect of their previous feelings, urging an understanding between the two, paying no heed to whatever peat experiences they'd had.

Samuel, suddenly shy, ducked his head.

Michael had thought Sam's eyes would be mad, crazed and beyond reason. Horrified or repulsed, even. Agony would not have surprised him in the slightest. Defiance, rage, or sadness would any of them struck him as true.

But those were the eyes of someone with faith.

True, undeniable faith.

And Michael may have bowed before humans, but in truth he'd never regarded them as much.

_He'd never loved them as fiercely as he was probably supposed to._

But faith, especially tested, was something that gained every Angel's respect.

Their Grace felt faith, and rejoiced in it. It was in their nature - they were made to love God before all things. They felt the love of God in others and in turn felt joy.

Sam did not love God. He had lost faith not in God's ability, but perhaps His will to help. Sam was overwrought with hopelessness.

Sam couldn't decide if he believed in fate or free will. Some days he was inclined towards one, and other days lapsed heavily into a belief in the other. It was in his nature to question everything. But he didn't have any answers.

So, though his Grace could not delight in Sam's faith (For it was not based on a love of God), it could still feel it. Tested again and again and again.

"Dean."

What?

Sam had come back to hold his gaze. He was a thousand times Samuel's six, a sun before a firefly, an Archangel and a peon. Those eyes held a terrible truth, but truths were subject to being of various wavelengths of real. Michael would never falter, no matter how much a human believed something.

He'd done too much, given too much.

"You'll piss of Dean like that. Or do you even care?" It was not said spitefully, but rather as if he had suddenly realized it.

_Like what? **What?**_

"Explain."

"Well I don't know. Are you going to try and coerce Dean or just threaten him?"

Warily, Michael murmured, "We never believed we would have to coerce or threaten our true vessels."

Samuel looked unimpressed.

"Wow. Okay, after spending a while psychically linked to your thoughts, at least treat me like I'm smart enough to call Bullshit."

Michael didn't really appreciate profanity. He also didn't appreciate Sam bringing up something he'd decided to not mention, ever.

But it was his own failure.

Actually, he was surprised that Samuel hadn't been broken by his own…assessment of the boy.

Ignoring the previous comment, he looked at Sam closely.

"you're stranger in mind and will than I thought."

Sam snorted in disbelief.

"Wow. Changing the subject now? Totally not obvious. I thought you were a _General_?"

They both knew that Samuel knew about as much as he could regarding Michael. The Winchesters and the man named Singer had no doubt combed through any texts they could on the Angels.

The words were offensive, rude, and disrespectful.

The tone…

Sam was speaking…lightly. Humor was too strong a word for it, but it was not guarded, or angry or scathing.

It wasn't friendly, but it wasn't hostile, either. Michael had smited for less. And yet, he was curious.

"You are reacting very well considering my…assessment…of your faith." Or perhaps that bit hadn't gotten through?

Samuel suddenly huffed in surprise. Then frowned.

_He hadn't been outright nice to Michael, but really? He'd been trying for not unpleasant, and then a guy goes and brings something like that up? Seriously?_

"Well, I just think you got it wrong." He shrugged it off as if it were nothing, but it was, it was _absolutely_ something.

And Michael shouldn't prod - he should be glad Sam isn't broken and just accept it.

He isn't even angry. He just stares at Sam blankly.

Sam shakes his head with a rotten attempt at a smile, "You guys wanted me to free him. You guys pushed me in that direction. Technically everyone but Dean pushed me in that direction. I mean, yeah, it wasn't hard, but if I hadn't been inclined to killing Lilith you would've found a way to get me to be. Yes, I wanted to prove to myself that I was better, that I could make something good out of something terrible, and I fucked up. And it's not fair. But shit's never been fair in my life. Deal with it. Get up and deal! Yeah, I wanted Angels to exist, but I wanted more than anything for something good to exist in the world, to even out all the terribleness we've seen. And that was the only way for me to go on - to think there was something else out there, a reason! But you were supposed to be more than that! You-"

But Michael is tired of Sam's criticism - what more is it to him but chatter? He'll not sit idle and be reprimanded by a bug. He stands over Sam as a snowstorm would, cold and deadly as a shallow lake glazed with ice.

"I do not care what you think I should be. What you want of me is _beyond_ irrelevant."

Samuel is crying. Has Michael broken him?

_Lucifer will be so upset_.

"it's just…when did you start wanting this?"

And Michael is pulling away. If he weren't furious, he'd be exasperated.

"Angels_ want_ only to carry out the will of God."

"So you want this?"

Michael is already back at his station.

"I want to carry out my Father's will."

"That doesn't answer the question."

Michael turns to glare at Sam, danger permeates his being. If Sam were smart, he would avoid speaking further.

Unfortunately, humans aren't particularly so.

"Just... if you could answer for yourself."

"Angels carry out orders from the Host."

"Yeah, but do you want to do this." It's flat, the way Sam says it, strung together without inflection, yet like a taunt, like a rhetorical question. Michael displaces the urge to backhand him, if only because Lucifer will find out.

"I have said already that if I should want, it is to be a warrior of the Lord, and act upon the His Divine Will."

Sam is laughing humorlessly. A dry, worried sound. Michael is almost sure that humans shouldn't make such a noise. But he can't entirely be moved to care.

"Wow. Yeah, okay, seeing the Dean in you."

Michael doesn't have "Dean" in him. Dean, like Sam was ... "bred" for traits of Michael. It's the other way around.

And it sounds vaguely insulting.

He narrows his gaze at Sam, a warning and a question. _And what do you mean by that?_

Sam gives a grim smile, oily discontent. He begins quoting,

_"'Why are we going into a vamp nest without dead man's blood?'_

_'Dad said so.'_

_'We don't know for sure that the maid is the ghost-_

_'Well, Dad said she was.'_

_'Why are we going that way? The trail is obviously heading-_

_'Didn't you hear Dad? We're goin' this way.'"_

And on and on and on he went, until he was out of breath.

Michael almost said, "I am not Dean.", but the whole point of the true vessel pairing pointed in the opposite direction.

Sam snarls, "If you could just_ think_ for _yourselves_-"

Michael's gaze sharpens, and _yes_, even the thus far unfaltering Samuel Winchester must yield before him, because he is still ageless, still a greater being than the human could ever hope to comprehend.

Ancient, having seen so much and loved so much and lived so much. No human could stand before him knowing what he knew.

"Angels are meant to obey. We _do not_ question our orders."

And their is no anger in this Voice, for Saint Michael can no more blame an ant for ignorance of the workings of the sea then he can Samuel for the workings of Heaven. And all that he is swells and just the shadow of wings jut from from his frame. And light, thousands of miles from his Grace but still a part of hie Being seeps through, making the phantom wings flicker and dance even in stillness.

Sam is staring up at him in awe.

Abruptly he remembers himself, that such displays will only wear away the vessel he wears now. The wings he folds away, the light he lets fade.

_That is what you are meant to be._

Sam suddenly bows his head, and Michael feels his soul, one moment still trying to recollect itself, suddenly collapse. Like a vacuum in space, Michael watches in morbid fascination as it suddenly falls within itself.

Like a storm, it convulses, an angry, agitated, unknown mass, energy sparking inside.

And all Michael can think is, _Lucifer will take one look at that and rip Dean's head off_.

The soul flickers and begins to flake.

Michael suddenly realizes his show of power resulted in his thoughtspeak being pushed back.

_He heard that, then._

Sam gives a broken laugh as Michael wrestles his thoughtspeak back onto another plane. Any other plane.

"I'm gonna have really weird dreams about my dad, now."

Michael peers at the human. That was a joke, he is sure. Almost a joke. Something like one.

Sam's soul is no longer pulling itself apart, he notes. A plus.

It's completely stilled, ceased to move at all. A minus.

It is like a grey, withered knot. It is devoid of color. The stillness was unnatural.

Souls in turmoil went so fast they expanded. Souls at peace went at a gentle pace, just as did a calm heart. Souls were life. They moved constantly.

Stopped souls were... Michael wasn't sure.

He was, however, certain no curses or spells could activate in this space.

It needed to heal.

To be absolved of guilt.

Michael was not inclined to do that. _Perhaps Dean would appreciate it._

"Why did he give us a choice..."

His attention, honed in on the dying soul, refocused on Sam's physical dimension. Sam looks...lost. He's staring bleakly at a corner of the room, sagging in his bonds.

"...if it was never meant to matter?"

Ah. Father.

Michael thinks that the grim humor Sam is probably a better state than hopelessness. The soul was unreachable when it's keeper was numb.

He feigned a scoff, "No. None of those, 'what is the answer to the universe' questions. I'm not his secretary."

Sam stared blankly at him.

Well. He'd tried.

He was about to call it a failure and let the silence resume, when, softly -

"You'll need to work on your jokes if you want Dean to like you." The tone was bland, the face impassive. His soul seemed to whisper at Dean's name.

Michael remembered when his and Lucifer's Graces had been so. Overjoyed at merely the mentioning of the other.

He notices off-handedly that he had walked back towards Sam at some point, stood several feet away. Cannot recall making the conscious decision to do so.

"Do you intend to aid me in gaining Dean's favor?"

A crooked smile cracks over Sam's features, as a fracture in porcelain. It is unsettling, but still preferable to whatever had been about to erupt before.

Yes. Even thinking of Dean rekindled some hope in him, however misguided it was.

"Eww, dude, that sounds like you're courting him. I mean, I know he says things like 'wear us to the prom', but I'm pretty sure..."

The smile falls away. His face is neutral again.

Michael thinks he might just completely give up, but Sam manages.

"Nah, not exactly."

"And?"

Sam closes his eyes. "I don't know. It's weird. Freaky, actually. So I'm giving you a reason to change it."

_What._

Oh.

"Samuel, I'm not reading your mind." It tapers of like a question. As if Michael is guessing at why Sam is failing to make sense.

After all, his soul could be a rock suspended in the center of his metaphysical being and most wouldn't be able to differentiate. Making sense may well be beyond his capabilities at this point. Michael wasn't sure. He'd never encountered such a state before, though admittedly, his interaction with humans was limited to begin with.

Sam blinks surprise, then struggles up a little, as if this small revelation has revitalized him.

A streak of yellow flows up his soul and disappears, as would hope or a pleasant surprise.

He fumbles, "Your, uh, appearance."

Michael stares at him for a moment before he understands.

"John Winchester. You're telling me..."

_ah_.

Sam is nodding, "It'll make Dean furious. I mean, if someone came to you and tried to get you to do anything while pretending to be..."

" - God. But I am not impersonating John Winchester."

Sam tilts his head, "Ye-ah, right. But it would still piss you off, right? I mean, you..care? Right? Maybe? I dunno, we get mixed signals from you."

"Of course I care."

"So it matters to you? Because - "

"I don't understand what mixed signals. How could I not care?"

Sam deadpans, "Zachariah took my lungs and destroyed Bobby's legs, not to mention the fact that he gave Dean stage four stomach cancer. Not the best way of saying, 'let's talk, become best friends', you know."

Michael is quiet fury. "He had no right."

"He had orders from you." It's said oddly, as if Sam is not sure what to think about saying that.

Michael's mood darkens. "I will see him after this."

Sam is curious, "I don't...wait, but he was following orders?" He sounds as if he would rather not be saying anything in Zachariah's defense, but he was a lawyer. Or had been planning on being one. He knows there is more than one side to a story.

"Zachariah also knew his place. Or should have. Touching the vessels-"

"He seemed to think it was perfectly normal. Threaten the meat suits until they agree."

"He was wrong."

"Enlighten me."

"You deny that you belong to Lucifer and that Dean belongs to me. But it is written not just in scripture so old, but the skin of your flesh and the light of your bones. It is in the meta-tangibility of your souls. To act against you is to act against Lucifer. Perhaps Zachariah thought that as long as you ignored your place the protection afforded you was to be ignored. **He**.** was**.** wrong**.

Sam is looking at him, a gaze intense, just as Lucifer was. Always trying to understand. Always curious.

But angels should not question.

Finally Sam takes a deep breath.

"Please change your... form, vessel, whatever. Uh, please."

Michael suddenly realizes.

"It unnerves you."

"Immensely."

"But it would cause your brother as much discomfort, keep him from being at ease in my presence. Why inform me?"

Sam raises his eyebrows. Perhaps Michael is being paranoid.

...

"Because I have faith in him."

Michael leans away from him then, and walks back to his post.

_Lucifer must have had faith in him, too **NO** And so it was fitting that Sam **NO** had faith in Dean **STOP** so it was that Dean would betray **DON'T** Sam._

Lucifer had trusted Michael.

Though it would never change his actions, revulsion rolled through him anew. Sam's disgust was conjured up, and began to make sense.

If Angels were not what they were, he would have described the experience as nauseating.

He focused on ignoring it - nothing could change from this, and instead cast his mind through his memories, searching for a face unknown to the Winchesters. It wasn't hard.

The last time he had been on earth had been so long ago. Centuries.


	4. Chapter 4

In normal time - that which the outside world experienced - two days passed before either spoke.

Strangely enough, this time it was Michael.

"I was not intending to utilize this space to confront Dean." He finally says.

the hunter looks towards him,"Why?" Samuel's curiosity spun light green in his soul. It was a terrible thing, but it was better than it had been before. It moved, slowly, achingly, so still as would a pinwheel without wind. If humans could see souls, they would not be able to catch the movement.

"Until two days ago, I had reason to believe that Zachariah... handled things with poise."

Disbelief colored Sam's voice as it did his soul- where it flushed a pointed blue, "_What_ reasons?", said, Michael was sure, only _mildly_ sarcastically.

Nevertheless, it was reassuring activity for a recovering soul - if perhaps not a healthy one.

"Positive reports."

It is met with silence. Sam opens and closes his mouth. His unconscious screams,_ You don't care!_

_How can you care? When you don't even know the guy you're sending to pick up your property?!_

Michael is affronted and perplexed, "Dean is not property."

Sam recoils in his chains, pressing himself up against the wall, "I thought you weren't reading my mind?" Stung and upset and defensive against what little he had.

"I wasn't... but I'm not about to suddenly, as you might say, 'go deaf'. When you're screaming with your mind as you were, it's rather hard to ignore."

Sam contemplates this, storing it away for future consideration, then returns to the previous subject, "You talk about us like we're property."

"When married, each spouse belongs to the other. Marriage is not property."

"For a very long time, it kind of was, actually."

"And what year is it currently?"

"And when was the last time you hung out with humans?"

_Well_.

"...Touche."

Sam blinks. He hadn't expected to win an argument with an archangel today. Michael hadn't expected it of him, either.

The silence returns. Michael watches the hunter - who returns to his brooding - and plans.

It had been a little over a week.

If Lucifer appeared with Dean now and saw the state of Sam's soul...

Lucifer, like Sam, could throw, as Dean aptly put it, '_a hellova bitchfit_.' Michael came to a sudden conclusion.

"Your souls is in tatters, Sam."

Warily Sam looks up, "thanks."

"I need to at least attempt to heal it." Or _something_. He straightens, his right palm warming with light.

Even as he starts forward Sam is leaning away, though his bindings negate any attempts, despite how futile they would have been already.

"Um, no don't-"

He continues forward, undeterred by the human's escalating nervousness.

"Sam." It will go over easier if Sam complies and doesn't fight it.

Sam attempts to scramble further away, tugging at his immoveable chains. "Hey, I'd rather not be ultimate bond buddies with you, thanks."

Michael pauses just as he is about to place his hand on Sam's chest, "what?"

"Cas had to heal Dean's soul in Hell. Yeah, not into the handprint tattoo. Maybe tomorrow. More likely never. Already have one too many archangels trying and failing to be their own, personal brand of friendly." Panic enveloped his heartbeat, curled purple in his soul, sped up his speech, straining away from the hand inches from where his lungs rush air in and out as his breath stays shallow.

Michael is completely still, processing.

"Castiel marked Dean."

_oh._

Sam's face stretched, and for a moment horror flickered across it, then melted away.

Michael will ask him about that later, as soon as he figures out himself.

He should be livid. He should be raging. Instead he's... worried.

Anxious.

About Castiel? _Was that why he fell? So close to a righteous soul that had always known free will?_

No, he knew the proper reaction was wrath.

And yet...

Zachariah had excellent results, considering. High praise had been spoken of the cherubim, and yet Michael had decided to smite him. Even though he had little qualms with Zachariah.

The cherubim had been using...unorthodox methods, yes, calling for punishment, yes, but warranting a smiting?

Where had that rage come from? Where had it gone in regards to Castiel?

Suddenly he was pulling away from Sam, his eyes lighting from an access to his Grace.

_Someone else's emotions were clashing with his._

He tugged impatiently at his grace, letting it expand (shoving the thoughtspeak away from that plane because no, not a good idea), pulled at his connection to Dean.

...

There was nothing.

Or rather, nothing new.

He released it even as it hopefully reached out towards Dean's subconscious, letting it fall back into himself.

_No._

_Not now._

But then whose...?

Perhaps he was just paranoid, the hunters having rubbed off on him.

He pulled the thoughtspeak away from that plane again - treacherously drifting towards it.

oh.

_Sam?_

For moments he reeled. He had a telepathic and_ empathic_ connection with the vessel of Satan?

But Sam should be likened more to Lucifer than Satan at this point. Lucifer, his brother, the ArchAngel and morningstar. Satan, the devil, fallen and hateful and vengeful.

Sam had not fallen, not yet, not until he said yes.

Of course his soul would allow a connection with Michael's grace.

He may have lost faith in Michael.

But not for one second did he lose it in Dean

And Michael and Dean were parallels.

Sam's soul was coming undone, but not without trying to fix itself. Of course it would take solace in the refuge of something seeming so familiar.

Michael turned to look at the hunter dubiously. Sam watched and waited with wide eyes. He couldn't cut the bond.

Sam's soul would break.

Lucifer was not broken, for all that he was twisted. They would not match as perfectly.

Lucifer's wrath would be...

Catastrophic did not seem to be vast enough to encompass all that would come to pass.

And despite the Winchesters' dissatisfaction with him for being willing to allow casualties during now, the end times, he's trying to preserve as much of this world as he can. And Lucifer will attempt to sabotage that just for revenge, alone.

He stowed his grace away (keeping special watch of the thoughtspeak) and lowered his hand to his side.

He couldn't heal Sam with his grace manually, either.

That would strengthen the bond and leave traces of his grace all over Sam's soul.

Lucifer was very possessive.

He sighed. He believed the human terminology was, "Stuck between a rock and a hard place". the soul would have to heal through natural causes, which meant effort on Michael's part - not only to not destroy it further, but to actively go about caring for it.

Sam was still watching him warily, as if ready to resume edging away.

The connection was a hairline crack. Michael quirked an eyebrow at him, and tugged.

Sam's reaction was immediate.

A normal, well adjusted soul could take that - the sudden, impromptu, triumphant thrill.

Sam's soul was completely un ready for it.

Michael's grace sang.

It was like hitting two gongs together, vibrating through the air, he, horrified, suddenly hastening to catch and still them and return the silence.

Sam was hunched over in his bindings, arms drawn up alongside his head by the chains, breathing heavily.

Michael's mind was reeling and panicked.

His grace was paramount tranquility.

The disconnect was strange, if not unsettling.

"Sam."

Sam drags his gaze back up.

"What the fuck was that." He huffs in quiet shock, cowed alarm, still reeling. Michael reaches out a hand as if to steady him, but doesn't.

"My apologies." He says softly, wincing internally at the mess he'd prompted.

Sam's head is bowed again.

Michael returns to the silence. If Sam had been looking, he would have seen the shudder of surprise when he feels Sam's mind question in half awe when the last time that Michael apologized to anyone.

Then he wondered if Michael had meant it.

Michael idly wonders the same.


	5. Chapter 5

"When you informed me of... Castiel and Dean. That they were... bonded." He says it without any inflection, out into the unguarded air.

For six days, they had more or less held silent, and only sporadically made any attempt at small talk (Michael had felt exhausted by the meaningless drabble), speaking quietly and with reservation of words.

Sam's head snapped up and Michael heard the tiny click of the bone at the base of his skull meeting his spine.

The hunter was immediately anxious, worried, wary. As if he had been dreading this, this conversation Michael had never alluded to in the slightest.

"Yeah...?"

Sam's emotions almost dwarfed his own. Angels loved their brothers and sisters. Even after they fell.

Sam cared for Castiel just as fiercely as an angel of his garrison would.

Michael had never met the Angel (and Sam, upon learning this, would have likely sighed and probably have sad, 'Even though he raised Dean from Hell? Mended his soul? You never thought to say Hi? Thanks? Nothing?'), but he did not think he was of the general disposition to easily render such emotion.

"You... well my ability to 'read faces' as it were, may be..." Michael struggled with it for no longer for a moment before he sighed and said, "You seemed to change for but a moment before accepting it. As if you were horrified. Why?" And he holds back the minuscule flash of an order in those words, because he knows he is more likely to offend than endear, and he doesn't think Sam's soul can handle adverse treatment.

"I figured you would...um...you know."

Michael nods, just a tad sarcastically. _Yes? What?_

Paramount eloquence, right here.

Same makes a 'bitch face' at him, and so it startles him when the next words out of the human's mouth are, "Kill him."

Michael blinked in surprise. "I'm not as possessive as Lucifer.", before internally wincing at that.

Sam makes another face (one which neither knows is titled by his brother, 'Prime Bitch Face Version Point 2') then lets it go. That is an entirely different conversation. Argument. Basically, he has no interest in pursuing that at the moment.

"Then I realized it didn't matter." He continued, deflating.

"Why?" It was perhaps in everyone's best interests if Sam was not utterly depressed.

"Because you'll kill him anyway."

There was a finality in that, an acceptance and a farewell. And perhaps since Sam had already experienced the Angel dying once, he understood it did not change when he returned - whomever had returned him being another case entirely, one Michael was not prepared to think on - that his death was not beautiful or explicit or renowned. It was a truth of war that Michael had learned long ago - disillusioned from death, the casualties of your brothers in arms - or, as all Angels were siblings, brothers in grace.

"He has fallen." Michael said quietly.

"I know." And there was guilt, but a quiet will resided there, too.

Faith. In the sacrifice. In what had been given up was worth what it brought. There was, too, defiance, the resentment that he _**understood**_, that Michael would simplify it to with the Host or not. But it _was_ simple to Michael. Castiel had defied the Host - he fell. The fallen had all sinned. They were to be killed.

No exceptions.

But that did not change Michael's love.

"I love all my brothers and sisters. Even those who have fallen." He does not know why he says it, grasps it as one would scrape the bottom of a basket in an attempt to fish out something - anything - rather than nothing at all, even if it has no worth. It will not make Sam feel better.

And then, "Even Lucifer?" Wide eyes turn up to him, bright with hope and fear both, the anticipation sharp and unknown.

_Of course_.

He answers softly, because it is a sad truth, beautiful and terrible and the most true of all the things he knows.

"Always Lucifer."

Sam closes his eyes and bows his head, as if a great weight has been imparted unto it, the weight of Michael's answer like a crown or lead. Michael knows it was the right answer, the true answer, besides.

Why does it feel as if he has done something wrong?

Sam's soul suddenly rapidly speeds up. It is not within the healthy realm of a soul for more than a second before it is past that, agitated and convulsing and upset. And Michael would not be moved to action by it, but he needs to at least make sure Sam's soul is presentable, and this is horrifying.

"What is it, Sam?"

Some things cause great discomfort in souls. Human psychiatrists were right about secrets.

_Get it off your chest._

Important ones caused chaos, the internal struggle could be violent, damaging.

But checking Sam's mind for more than a shallow reading of the air around him left room for error.

Michael could not trust the thoughtspeak to not suddenly reconnect, regardless of how much attention he paid to it.

And Sam would not forgive him for prying.

He wouldn't care, but if he meant to heal Sam's soul, trust was very important. Though Sam would never grant such a trust to him, it's agitator would have the inverse effect, breaking up all that it had done to heal.

It comes out as a whisper, cut from his throat, dragging tears in his voice.

"Lucifer loves you, too." _Misses you, too._

An admission, a confession.

And Michael is only half surprised. The love of brothers was strong. And the love of the four original ArchAngels had been magnificent.

But Sam is still staring at him as if everything has changed, almost on the edge of devastated.

"Sam." But Sam closes his eyes, looks away, almost disgusted, almost pained.

"Sam-"

"Do you not understand?"

"Of course I do, but-"

"Exactly the same. Does that mean nothing to you?"

There's outrage in there somewhere, hidden under the desperation and the confusion.

Michael looks at Sam sadly, almost pityingly. He could never have predicted the expression with which he human now.

"We both know." We both love each other.

Sam makes a noise of distress and sags under his chains, drained.

He acted as if that had taken so much out of him to say.

Why?

Suddenly Michael realizes.

Sam had been unwilling to admit...

"Your connection to Lucifer has gotten stronger." He feels the abnormal urge to smile, but ignores it. Sam will not likely appreciate it.

Sam hisses at the change in topic, fights the tears that plague him, "You guys don't actually understand love."

Michael could be furious with that statement, for it belied the truth. They had known love first, above all things. It was eternal, as much a part of them as their Grace. But this insult was spoken from a mangled soul, fueled by naiveté.

"Love does not work the way you want it to, Sam. I cannot place Lucifer above my orders, or the world, or my brothers and sisters. If it was Dean or the world, who would you choose to save?"

That wasn't the problem. He couldn't save Lucifer. No one could. But he owed it to Lucifer to be the one to end it, because he'd destroy whoever tried it in his stead.

"No. No it's different and you know it." Sam says heatedly to the floor, "It's not Dean or the world to me, Michael, it's Dean and the world. I lose them both. I lose everything that's ever mattered to me. Everything I've spent my life trying to protect. If it were Dean or the world, I could make that sacrifice. But I can't kill him anymore than he can kill me. He couldn't even let me die, ok! Love isn't black and white!"

"To us it is."

Sam makes a choking noise, but it's already out of his mouth, "Not to Lucifer."


	6. Chapter 6

For a moment all is frozen. This miniature world is untouched by timespace, but for an instant, Michael's grace dies.

"_**What. Do. You. Mean.**_" It is forced out, haltingly, through his "mouth" after he almost blasts it through this nonexistent air in Enochian.

Sam shudders, and there, there is that agony in Sam's soul, causing it unrest. He looks up.

"What would you even do if he refused to kill you? To fight you? Would you still strike him down?", and it is not a question but a broken challenge.

Michael was reeling, but his vessel appears collected, unmoved. He closes his eyes.

(And for the past week, he'd rarely looked surprised or angry or animated at all. But the telepathic link had revealed the truth to Sam, and so the human knew what he saw and what Michael felt were different. That Michael was a storm trapped in glass.)

"How would you know that." It is an order, but he already knows.

Sam had not been upset by what he knew, but what it implied.

"Lucifer can't kill you. He won't."

But what did it mean beyond that, as the human refused to look up?. Sam thought Michael didn't care, was unmoved. _Mixed signals_. That all there was to him was the war. The secret had meant more.

How deep he had gone.

He'd become Lucifer's confidant.

_His true vessel._

Michael ignores Sam's statement because if he doesn't, his grace will erupt. Because he couldn't.

Because he _can't_.

_He was a good son_.

It was his mantra. How he survived.

This had meant something else to Sam. He should have said yes to Lucifer already.

Why?

The answer came unbidden.

For Dean.

Lucifer was to Sam and Dean was to Michael.

His grace was spasming._ No_.

_**He was a good son**_.

He forces himself to back out of his own emotions, distances himself. Or at least tries.

"he hasn't been acting like that, Sam." He says finally.

"I know." It's miserable, dragged down.

_I'd have thought he was lying but..._

"You're ready to say yes." Michael tries to sound imposing, but it's ignored.

"He'll do it for you." _It_. The Apocalypse.

"I know my brother."

"So do I."

Michael gently eased Sam's subconscious close, careful to avoid tapping into his conscious stream of thought, to assesses the damage.

Sam couldn't talk about this anymore. It was destructive.

Sam throws his head back and looks Michael in the eye.

"Hypothetically."

_No_

"Why."

Sam makes a face. Michael dares probe his thoughts. Lucifer would die feeling better. but Sam won't say it.

Michael feels like a wash of holy fire has cascaded over his grace.

_No_

"Fine."

The look on Sam's face is drawn with surprise. He'd tried, for Lucifer.

Except he'd expected to fail.

"If he called off the Apocalypse. Apologized. Hell, if he repented."

Sam would not tell Lucifer until the end.

Michael shakes his head, "We do not question, Sam."

A parent explaining to a child.

"Why?"

So curious. Sam and Lucifer, both, always asking.

But you do not question the Host, or the Holy Spirit, for it leads to doubt, and then to falling.

Lucifer had become adept as Satan for his whispers.

Sam was on his way.

Innocent in his inquiries, ever leading towards the answers he wanted.

"Asking leads to falling." Inadvertently.

But Sam was insistent, "Please."

"Why?"

"Humor me."

Michael closed his eyes again. Counted to a thousand in Enochian. The truth was there was no right answer.

_I am a good son._

"I don't know."

It comes out rough and soft, not as he usually speaks, smooth and hard and cold.

_He would have sought God's council, but_ -

"He's missing, right?"

For a moment Michael assumes his thoughtspeak had relocated again, that Sam could hear him.

But it hasn't.

He looked over at Sam.

Sam's voice was hushed.

In that moment there was a light in his eyes, bright, yearning.

"What do you think he would-?"

It derails in the end, tapers off self consciously, and Michael's eyes widen.

_Did Sam know?_

Sam cut off, hung his head.

In an instant, Michael was in front of him, kneeling so that they were at eye level, leaning close.

"He _has_ let you in." And there is an edge of wonder in Michael's voice, but he had underestimated everything.

Sam looks away sharply, says nothing.

Michael presses, "So you know? You've _seen_?"

_His memories, his life, his feelings_.

Everything the morningstar _was_, here, trapped in a human, fragile as a dream.

Michael is jealous for a moment. But of course it makes sense. The only way Lucifer could convince Sam that he wasn't the two-dimensional bringer of evil and chaos had been to completely reveal himself.

To a _human_.

It was shocking. That the creature before him almost understood the wrath of God.

He longed, suddenly, to reach out to the human. To touch the morningstar's light again.

Sam was crying.

Michael suddenly cringed, though Sam, head down, did not see it. Lucifer had given all of himself to Sam. Sam's current state was...

Lucifer loved Sam.

"Lucifer will not stop, Sam." _That had not been what he'd meant to say._

"He believes he has to," Sam gasps through his tears.

"He believes he is right. He couldn't return to heaven with our Father's forgiveness even if he wanted to - he would never belong. Never understand."

_No_. The wrong words.

"But if I could convince -"

"No." It was too late.

Silence pooled, heavy in the air.

He can try.

"It would be a really awkward family dinner if he returned."

A joke. He, Saint Michael the archangel, made a joke.

This truly is the Apocalypse.

A sob, a wet laugh. Sam is bound, and can't wipe his eyes or cheeks. Michael resists the urge to do it for him.

"'Specially since you guys don't eat." A sniff, and Sam is almost recovering.

Almost. Not quite.

Michael feels his grace want to wrap around the boy. He'd seen so much more than Michael had thought. He reminds himself that Sam has drunk demon blood. That he is _undeserving_.

It seems cruel and capricious to him.

Sam straightens, huffs in embaressment.

Michael is perfectly "comfortable" crouched at Sam's side. But Sam is unnerved, it seemed.

Michael snorted and did something ridiculous. Something he'd done only once, long, long ago. When his entire family was untouched by trial and tears.

He sat cross-legged.

Sam stared at him in surprise.

"You tell Lucifer about this and I will delve into Dean's memories and find the most embarrassing thing about your possible." He threatens.

Suddenly a lopsided grin spills across Sam's face. A surprise, like a glass of milk suddenly tipped over.

it had an essence of beauty.

"_Please_. Most of his memories are filled with _his_ embarrassing stories."

"I will inform the entire Host. I will personally write it on every bill board in America."

Sam is laughing disbelief.

"The ones that are left." _Will be left._

It's suddenly more somber, sadder, a charade of friendliness.

Sam perks up again. He's learned to.

"Will paradise even have bill boards?"

Despite himself, Michael laughs.


	7. Chapter 7

"...um..."

Michael looked up, caught Sam's gaze.

"yes, Sam?" and since _when_ had he started talking to the hunter and addressing him with his name? Or preferred name, really?

"Well... uh..." Sam squirmed. That was curious.

"What is it?" He walked over and sat in front of Sam, sliding into the cross-legged position as he'd taken to doing. It needed to look easy in order to inspire easiness. Ease of mind meant ease of heart and ease of heart...

...meant ease of soul.

Was he becoming friends with Samuel Winchester?

_No._

But it was not unlike friendship.

"um...can I...can you..." Sam huffed in frustration, as if he was embarrassed, or perhaps unsure of something. It was, Michael thought, something Lucifer would have found endearing. That was...

_'Cute'_.

"Sam, I am not reading your mind so verbal communication would be excellent." He didn't change his tone, but he thought it sounded sufficiently sarcastic.

Sam gave him a glare and then an acknowledging snort.

He sighed. "Can you take off the..." He shook his arms, as if he could rattle them (no sound was made), nodding towards the invisible bonds, "these?"

Michael blinked in surprise.

"Why?"

"Because...I don't enjoy them...?"

There was only a dollop of sarcasm there, for which Michael was grateful.

"Why not ask before?" Warily, he began to slowly remove the first.

"Because I've never been chained up by someone who might be willing to _not_ chain me up?"

Micheal quirked his head thoughtfully. Then understood.

"You didn't think it would matter to me whether or not you wanted to be in chains or not."

"Er...right."The first fell away. He began on the second.

_He wouldn't have. He didn't. Shouldn't._

_Did he?_

The second one fell away and Sam pulled his arms close, straining the muscles in his hand, and stretching.

But time had not met his body for several weeks. The chains had not chaffed his wrists, nor had his muscles become sore or lazy. Any discomfort was created in Sam's head.

And Michael was unwilling to venture there.

"thank you" Sam murmured, splaying his fingers out in his lap.

The words caught at Michael's grace and churned there, like egg yolk in a blender.

He drew away.

"You are welcome." Michael informed him, regarding him thoughtfully.

Sam looked up several minutes later after fiddling to find Michael still watching.

"What?" He said guardedly.

"You realize timespace does not affect you here, right?"

Sam rolled his eyes, "Oh, I thought it was normal to not have an appetite after several days." He rolled easily onto his knee and in a fluid motion was standing up. It was...

graceful.

For a human.

He was padding, barefoot, of course, around the borders of the room, running his fingers over the wall. Partially because he could. Partially because he was raised a Hunter, and he was testing, searching for weaknesses, limits.

Michael let him.

Mostly because he was caught in sudden surprise.

For a few moments, Sam, tall for a human, had towered over him. It was completely unlike when he had bowed to humanity and yet...

No human had stood over him since.

He craned his neck to see Sam had paused at the strange seal that served as entrance and exit.

_If he touched it he'd be vaporized._

Best not to let that happen.

Instantly he was in front of Sam, blocking him without spreading either his arms or his legs.

"**Do not attempt to escape**." He said with the authority of the Holy Spirit.

The voice he had once used to both intimidate and inspire his younger brothers of lower ranks. It was caught between his roar and his purr, Lucifer had once told him. Gentle yet strong. But that was long ago, and he had not often used it since.

It was the only way he could think of not offending Sam while still giving him an order.

"yeah, yeah, can't blame me, though, can you." Sam said softly, eyes on the seal. Freedom was inches and worlds away.

Not a good sentiment for a healing soul.

Sam backed off, looked around again, casting his eyes over the ceiling as if seeing it for the first time. Or rather, as he was a Hunter, from a different angle.

Michael had been inadvertently pleased when he'd learned that the true vessels would be Hunters. They were one of the closest things to warriors in this time.

Of course, then it had been revealed that they had proved incredibly stubborn and unwilling to act accordingly.

But then again, having your lungs ripped out was, as Sam put it, definitely not the way to become best buddies.

"I understand what Cas meant, now." Sam whispered half to himself as he spun slowly around in the center of the room.

"Hmm?"

Michael was curious as to what his brother had said.

Sam stopped and looked at Michael in surprise for a moment, as if he hadn't quite realized he'd spoken aloud. Then he grinned.

He did that more often.

Michael suddenly realized this place felt like an escape from the real world to Sam.

Probably a bad idea to let that continue.

Probably a worse idea to end it and watch his soul begin tearing itself apart again.

"Cas liked to watch Dean sleep." Sam sad with a half mischievous grin. "Dean did not so much like Cas watching him sleep." He explained at Michael's blank look.

He smiled more sadly, to himself, "Dean would tell Cas off, but Cas said he didn't need to sleep." Silence returned, but Michael didn't think that was the main point of the half whisper.

He then shrugged when Michael inclined his head as if to say, _go on_, finally prompted to add vaguely, "I asked him about it one time."

His smile was gone now, just a thoughtful, almost longing gaze off into the distance.

"What did he say?" Michael's voice had become whisper, too.

He rarely felt the need to lower his voice. But this felt secret, important, as if he spoke too loudly, Sam would realize he was speaking personally and say something short and clever and not be pulled back onto that subject again.

Sam dragged his eyes away from the far away place and looked at Michael. A small, sad smile hung on his lips, like a limp _WELCOME_ banner.

"He said being an angel was one constant moment of consciousness."

He ducked his head low, suddenly spent, and Michael waited.

He'd waited hundreds of years for the Winchesters.

This was nothing.

Sam looked up, as if he'd heard that. (but no, his thoughtspeak was in the right place, thankfully - _and yes, he checked regularly now_).

"I asked him if he ever got tired." Sam suddenly seemed upset. He looked away, and Michael followed him.

"What is it, Sam?"

Sam seemed distracted, unhappy.

_Well he didn't have much reason to not be unhappy, but more so than usual._

"Well, he - okay, I understand what he meant when he said he didn't get tired, but..."

It hung still in the air, as if someone had suddenly realized and pointed it out, a great, coruscating chandelier, hanging by a spider's silk.

_I meant something else._

Sam had experienced it first hand - he had felt no urges to sleep, no need to take respite.

He hadn't been refreshed, per se, but suspended in the same in-between state.

Sam was struggling to find words again. Michael was perplexed by that. It bred a certain impatience in him. He felt the urge to offer a list of words for Sam to use, to help him along.

But he knew too many words, and not enough of what Sam wanted to say.

"Like... weary. Don't you guys get weary...emotionally?" Sam threw his hands up as he hissed to himself, dissatisfied.

Michael rarely found he could not find the right words. If you had something to say, you said it. No need to look for the right way. Of course, Lucifer had always made sure he was proficient at turning words. He'd wanted to know them all, and use them all, to spin someone's meanings around and impale them upon their own statements. Another thing Sam had yet to perfect. Of course, he was cunning, Michael was sure, and in certain situations, manipulative, but not in the general sense Lucifer had been.

It was a question of who you were talking to and under what pretenses, as well as whether or not it was right.

Lucifer was of the general opinion that everything he was doing was what was right.

Sam bridged his fingers between his eyes, just at the nasion of his nose.

Michael had never seen him do it before, as Sam had been chained, but he got the strange feeling Sam did it a lot.

He felt as though that was not the question Sam meant to ask, nor the one he was expected to answer. In fact, he was sure if he answered (truthfully, at least), Sam would be more frustrated.

Suddenly Sam blinked in surprise.

He shook his head as if to clear it, and the conversation, away, a fly that was now driven off, less likely to return.

"Oh. Ok." He muttered to himself.

He waved his hand in a shoo-ing motion when Michael followed him back to his place. Even though he was no longer chained there, he went back. Interesting.

"Sam?" Michael watched with growing concern.

"Mmmnothing." Sam mumbled to the heel of his palm as he sat cross-legged and thought to himself.

Michael opened his mouth then sighed and sat across him.

"Is something on your mind?"

"Nothing important."

Michael did not say that he suspected a good deal of what Sam thought about was important.

Especially considering his memory of Lucifer.

Ever curious.

Always wanting to know more, piece it together. Michael had never needed to know all those things. He functioned perfectly without them.

He knew all he needed to.

But Lucifer had always, always, coveted knowledge.

"Michael...so you..." Sam suddenly aborted it. Waving his hands ever more frantically when Michael opened his mouth.

"Actually, nevermind. I think I get it."

"Why not check with the archangel to make sure?"

Had that just come out of his mouth? It had.

Suddenly he remembered a time long ago.

_Lucifer informing him he'd figured something out about fighting (delighted at his own experimenting)._

_Gabriel had congratulated him, and Lucifer had promised to teach him about it later, but Michael, the general, the warrior, the mentor, had said, "Why not check with your eldest brother to make sure?"_

_They had all laughed at that._

_So curious for him to say._

_It was long before humans_

_at a cliff face by the sea..._

"Well..." Sam hesitated, but it was enough to pull him out of his revere.

"This is about... tiring... not physically?" Michael asked. He still wasn't sure what Sam wanted to know, and the Hunter's thoughts seemed to be scattered, splayed out around his mind, a boiling pot of water, too many rising like bubbles to the surface and escaping before he could notice. Michael was trying to help him keep the one question collected. Tried to help him along, really.

Perhaps he was curious, himself.

Just a little.

Philosophy had never been a major interest.

He knew a thousand fold what most humans knew on the matter, of course.

And yet -

"well, I think you guys don't generally get...tired...in the sense that I was asking." Sam said thoughtfully.

But he said it in the way someone says that they couldn't find any _blue_ bunnies in a field of _white_ bunnies. Sam wanted to hear that there _was_ a blue bunny there. He wouldn't be satisfied until he had.

Michael knew humans were willing to twist their own perceptions around when they wanted.

"Yet...?"

"Well, I was just thinking of what Anna said-"

"Anna? As in Annael?" The angel who had attempted to kill Sam and was in turn killed by himself?

"Umm...yeah, her human name was Anna, though."

"And you were thinking back on something she said..." Michael wondered if he'd managed to use tone to _imply_ something.

Sam stared at him.

He'd need to do more then. Humans used facial expressions to pick up on things, Michael knew.

Micheal did not roll his eyes, but he managed to raise the one eyebrow in a manner that was hopefully interpreted as such.

"The Annael that attempted to go back in time and kill you before you were concieved Annael?"

Sam snorted, "yeah, but before that."

"Naturally." Michael had been working on his sarcasm. He thought he must had done adequately because Sam coughed into a laugh.

Sam sighed, "Well it's not like I blame her. If I were her I'd slit my throat without a second thought, too."

Michael's triumphant mood abated immediately. He looked at Sam sharply.

"Oh, what?" Sam huffed, "Seriously? The moment you guys showed up, you've technically been prepping me for _you_ killing me so-"

"Sam."

"Ugh, whatever. I'm not suicidal, so don't be all -"

Sam fluttered his hands in what must have been an aggravated manner. Michael would have smiled if Sam had met his eyes.

Lucifer had learned to look right at you when he lied.

Sam still had a ways to go.

"Are you?"

Sam looked up sharply, easy disposition gone in an instant.

"No." It was angry, but for the wrong reasons.

"But you would be." Not a question. Michael did not like this.

Sam sighed and looked away, "Yeah, well, last time I visited Heaven, wasn't so much fun. Or, you know, maybe one day, just for fun, I could die and end up getting sent to Hell. Also probably not fun. Actually, probably a one-way ticket to Lucifer, if you think about it..."

Sam wasn't suicidal because _dying would make things worse._

Michael did not know how to fix this.

He wasn't sure he could.

He strongly suspected the only reason Sam had to live was Dean.

A sudden boiling in his Grace and he understood that without Dean, saying yes would be easy for Sam.

Dean needed to say yes first.

_Only then would Sam fall._

It said something terrible about the past, for the Winchesters were supposed to be parallels of their ArchAngels.

Michael could not dwell on that.

Sam seemed to feel that the conversation past this point would be salvageable if diverted.

He looked up at Michael.

Micheal became vaguely aware that the expression on Sam's face must be what Dean liked to call 'puppy eyes'.

Sam wasn't asking for anything specific, though. At least, not yet -

"Hey, Michael?"

"Yes, Sam." _Samuel. Why had he said Sam? He wasn't supposed to be familiar with the Hunter. _He could tell himself it was for Sam's soul, but he knew that wasn't why.

"You been reading my thoughts?"

"No."

"Well, thanks" it was less cordial, and yet more gentle a word, softer than when Michael had released him, yet all the more present. It was a gratefulness from Sam's soul.

Sam felt very strongly about privacy, Michael believed.

His grace wanted to hear Sam say it again.

Sam closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall.

As if he was resting. But he couldn't, not in this spacetime state.

He seemed to realize the same thing, because his eyes fluttered open at an exciting thought.

"Wait, Michael, can I...be able to sleep?"

Technically, in his current state, _no_. But Sam's tone was more as if he was asking, 'is it possible to bypass my current state and sleep' rather than that.

"...Yes...but why?"

Sam felt no urges to sleep, so why should he want to?

"um, well..."

Michael suddenly straightened, "You wish to see Lucifer?" perhaps he was a tad too hopeful, because Sam scowled.

"what? No! I just..."

Sam flailed, and Michael realized that he got increasingly more physical when he didn't have the words to say. Michael did not think Sam generally found himself lacking the necessary words, but conversations like theirs tested each others' perceptions of what was common sense and what was not.

"...want to. Don't you guys ever do something just because you- wait, no, don't answer that, I know you don't. You'd be perfectly content standing in an alley staring at the _wall_ for hours on end." it was said exasperatedly. Perhaps from experience.

Michael huffed, yes, some of his youngest brothers lacked the drive to act on imagination or do things for the sake of it, but more likely they were unaware that it was not disrespectful. Soldiers did not entertain themselves. Besides, they were perfectly _content_ within the Host, they wanted for nothing. They watched, but they did not...

"we fly." It comes out teasingly, just an undertone of immodest. Michael is shocked that it came out of his mouth. Sam looks surprised, too.

Suddenly Sam bursts out laughing.

"Wow, ok, ok." he chuckles as he recovers. Michael's grace is still curling from the sound.

Sam hadn't really laughed in Michael's company before. If he had, it certainly hadn't been like that, instead either grim or ironic.

"I...believe you can." Michael murmured as Sam looks up, "but...you shouldn't..." _want to_. He frowns then shrugs.

Michael the Archangel shrugs. It's getting harder and harder to do an internal double take.

"Would you like to sleep now?" Sam blinks in surprise, then scrambles up, "uh, yeah? Sure?" He grins, "Not like I'm busy or anything." Michael hears as Sam follows him.


	8. Chapter 8

Michael focuses until a bed shape materializes from the adjacent wall. It lacks all color, as does the rest of the space, but it will feel as soft as a normal bed, he believes. He's not entirely sure what a normal bed feels like, he admits to himself.

He motions Sam over, who shuffles shyly up, "Uh...um...Michael?"

He'll begin wrapping sigils on Sam's flesh, now. Just the forearms, and once on the chest at the end, he thinks. He's writing with his finger - it glows white with grace, ever more potent. Lightly he traces the first symbol on Sam's shoulder.

"Yes, Sam?"

Immediately after it's traced, it whispers away, like white steam suddenly dissipating from a kettle.

"err...are you going to watch me sleep?" Michael pauses.

Sam looks uncomfortable.

Technically, yes, of course he would. Sam was still his...prisoner.

"Generally, yes..."

Sam fidgets as Michael traces the last one onto his neck instead of his chest. It works better there, Michael believes.

"ok..." Sam mumbles as Michael steps away.

Sam had said that Castiel watching Dean sleep had unnerved his brother, even though Castiel had marked Dean. And Micheal was aware that Sam valued his privacy.

"I...would be willing to leave after you fell asleep." He tries to compromise.

Micheal the ArchAngel, compromising with a human who willingly drank demon blood.

well.

Sam seems to relax somewhat, however.

he looks away from the bed quickly and back at Michael, "thank you"

it's a wary gratitude, not quite as true as before, but more than the first, as if he is caught between gratitude and the distrust between them.

How could he know if Michael was telling the truth, after all?

Michael puts a small smile on his face. That would reassure Sam, right? he could lie and stay, if he pleased, after all.

But if Lucifer would not lie to Sam, Michael could find no reason to do otherwise.

Well he could, but wasn't looking for one.

Sam sat on the edge of the bed, then slid his legs in. Michael had made sure it could accommodate his large frame, so...

Sam pulled the covers up, eyes wide as he inspected it, as if he was fully prepared for it to suddenly try and buck him off. Hunter. Right. He probably was.

He looked up suddenly, "do I just...what if i can't sleep?"

Michael walked up to the side of the bedpost, and cast away the light urge to kneel beside it.

"I will activate a seal on your forehead, and you will sleep."

Sam looked up at him, completely comfortable. Well, he was a little uncomfortable, but not because of Michael's presence. it was something to marvel at.

"Kind of like when Cas knocked Dean out?" A small smile creeps up Sam's face at that, although it had not likely been a pleasant idea at that point in time. Michael cannot fathom why it would make Sam smile, but he's not willing to voice that question yet and make Sam rethink it. Healing souls don't generally react well to that sort of treatment, he's sure.

"Exactly. The other seals release you from the particular dimension that locks your physical need to rest. The forehead seal makes you sleep."

"For how long?" A child in kindergarten likely had the same tone. Sam wanted to know everything. Michael had the feeling he had fought the urge to ask more expansively about the seals. It was a strange, brotherly affection that he remembered at this.

"A couple hours at most, nothing extensive."

Sam nodded.

"right, I'm ready."

Michael reaches out to activate it.

"Thank you Michael." Sam murmurs before his eyes flutter closed.

Michael draws his hand away as his grace sings.

He supposes Sam had thanked him both for promising to leave and then for actually letting him sleep.

He wanted to stay. It was his duty to stay.

And yet...He didn't want to disappoint Sam. Even if Sam never knew.

Besides, Michael had assumed that the timespace interaction of this miniature world prevented Sam from getting "bored", yet he'd wished to go to sleep.

...

Michael had some things to attend to.


End file.
